Ash & Ink - Chapter 1

This is a slightly creepy yet whimsical tale in progress about an odd little bookstore and the curator of special-edition books who may be residing within and might be a little… Well, lonely. Hmm, and the shop might be a little lonely too, come to think of it. I wanted something that was a little Eldritch, a little whimsical, and as is so commonly a theme, I love to explore the idea of what happens when you view yourself as monstrous… Or hell might even be monstrous… But somebody somewhere truly sees you and loves you for it.

Status: WIP Genre: Paranormal Romance / Eldritch Romance
 Romance: M/F TW:

Supernatural and Eldritch Horror: The story features sentient architecture, uncanny books and objects, nonhuman beings, distorted space and time, shadowy transformations, unsettling supernatural phenomena, and themes involving ancient knowledge and forces beyond human understanding.

Manipulation, Possessiveness, and Compromised Agency: A sentient bookshop becomes increasingly attached to the heroine and may influence its environment, arrange encounters, obscure the passage of time, and cross boundaries in its attempts to draw her closer. The story explores supernatural entanglement, possessiveness, and the distinction between genuine welcome and coercive control.

Rituals, Sacrifice, and Human Remains: The narrative includes references to historical blood sacrifice, ritual offerings, bodily fluids, human teeth, and supernatural systems maintained through ancient rites and exchanges.

Threat, Violence, and Supernatural Danger: The developing story includes the threat of punishment or “correction” by powerful supernatural forces, loss of control by nonhuman characters, frightening transformations, and possible physical danger or injury.

Emotional Distress and Isolation: The story explores loneliness, emotional repression, fear of intimacy, anxiety, abandonment, and the distress of believing oneself fundamentally unable or forbidden to form ordinary human attachments.

Chronic Illness: The narrative includes recurring migraines with visual aura, pain, nausea, and the use of medication and other symptom-management measures.

Sexual Content: The completed story is expected to contain explicit consensual sexual content involving a human woman and a nonhuman male character, with supernatural power dynamics and themes of surrender, access, and bodily transformation.

Chapter 1

The small storefront crouched like a waiting cat at the dim end of the cul-de-sac. Lucy slowed her pace and gazed at the shop with curiosity. The weathered, dark burgundy paint covering the storefront’s wood paneling reminded her of the slightly faded velvet curtains of an old theater. The trim was a dark, smoky charcoal. The two-story building itself stood tall and narrow, with slightly fussy trim that made it look much older than most of the stores in that part of town. The door handle was brass and matched the gold leaf on the elegant, hand-painted sign.

The windows were surprisingly tall, their tops arched in graceful curves. The glass itself looked old, thick, and wavy. Lucy could see through it, catching sight of tables and shelves, pools of light, and a sense of movement. But oddly, when she tried to make out details in the slightly overcast light at the end of the alley, she couldn’t seem to find a spot of glass clear enough to see anything specific.

The roof was very steep and seemed a bit odd in shape. It gave Lucy the impression that the building was trying to stand very straight, making itself look a bit taller than it actually was. It had an air of slightly faded elegance, as though at one time it had been designed by someone who wanted it to look just a little grand, but now it simply felt comfortable with itself, in a self-possessed sort of way.

Lucy enjoyed the musical clack of her low heels echoing off the rain-slicked pavement as she made her way closer. The brief rain squall had already passed, leaving the air heavy with petrichor and the mineral smell of wet concrete. The watery light from the late-afternoon sun peeked through the clouds.

Ella had told her about the shop while Lucy was fretting over what to get her best friend, Margo, for her birthday.

“It’s this quirky little bookstore, kinda popped up overnight. Very dark academia, very Margo,” Ella had assured her, sipping her coffee as people bustled around them in the small café where they sat. “I’m sure you can find something for her there, and your reputation will stay intact.”

Lucy had laughed and nodded. She loved gift-giving, and picking out thoughtful ones for her friends was something she always put real effort into. She supposed she had developed a bit of a reputation for it in her friend group. Lucy couldn’t exactly argue, since she now found herself following Ella’s tip down a side street to the small, odd shop.

She reached out and brushed her fingers over the dark-painted wood of the sign, smiling.

“Ash & Ink,” she murmured.

Lucy looked down at the welcome mat and gave a small chuckle.

WELCOME, I SUPPOSE, it read.

The chilled, damp brass of the handle fit neatly into her palm as she opened the door. A breath of cooler air feathered across her face, carrying the scent of printer’s ink and leather. Beneath it, the faint sandalwood and vanilla sweetness of aging paper lingered.

And something else.

Lucy paused on the threshold, frowning slightly as she tried to place it. It was faint, but there... a rusty note, like old iron and something she couldn’t quite name.

After a moment, she gave a small shrug and stepped inside.

As her eyes adjusted to the dimmer store lighting, Lucy noted the tall bookshelves that stretched back into the darkness of the large space. This place would definitely be up Margo’s alley. There were reading nooks tucked here and there, with small golden lamps casting pools of light around them. They felt like little islands of warmth within the store’s cooler elegance. 

This was not a brightly lit space, fragrant with the smell of roast coffee and decorated with a rainbow of trade paperback covers displaying dragons, mafia princes, and other questionable men. These weren’t books; these were tomes. Most seemed leather or fabric-bound, or wrapped in austere book jackets. They had a presence to them, Lucy noted as she lightly trailed her fingers along their spines. 

“Do you need some assistance?”

Lucy turned quickly, startled by the low, cultured voice just behind her left shoulder. As she did, she saw the man’s eyes, which had been fastened on her fingertips brushing the books, flick up to meet her gaze. They were dark, almost black in the low light, as was his hair. Lucy found herself cataloging the various elements making up his face. He had narrow features and a long nose, the combination just a little too severe to be traditionally handsome. His lips looked a bit thin, although it might have been because he was pursing them slightly.

Lucy realized she’d been staring. She felt her cheeks warm and ducked her head. The tall man blinked and tilted his own. He didn’t smile back. She noticed a slight thinning of the skin under his eyes, which looked ever so slightly tired. He reached with one long-fingered hand and adjusted the cufflink of the opposite wrist slightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m looking for a gift.” She almost chuckled as he raised one elegant eyebrow. “It’s for my best friend, she’s got a birthday coming up, and another friend told me about your store.”

“Did they?” His low voice was mild.

“Mmm hmm,” she gazed around appreciatively. “I have to say, it does not disappoint.”

“Ah,” he paused. “Thank you?”

“This would be absolutely up Margo’s alley.”

“Margo?”

“My best friend, she of the birthday present hunt.”

“Indeed.” 

“Yes, do you have any gift items?”

“Hmm,” he looked thoughtful. Lucy noticed the dusting of grey at his temples and how his hair was just slightly longer than seemed to fit his otherwise very formal style. There was a faint hint of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, and it made Lucy wish she could make him smile so she could see them crinkle up. She had a feeling it would transform his features. She watched him slowly turn, still lost in contemplation.

“Is there something specific you were thinking about for your friend?”

“Well,” Lucy tapped her forefinger on her lip. “She loves to write and sketch. If you have any nice journals, she might love something like that. Or one of those candles that are made for various types of book genres.” She saw the eyebrow go up again and grinned. “You know, they’re named things like ‘dark romance’ or ‘fae prince’. They usually have a lot of leather and musk in the scents.”

“Fae… prince…” the owner, she assumed he was the owner, said slowly. The lips were back to being pursed again. She gave him a small shrug. He huffed softly, then cocked his head and looked off, almost as if he were listening to something Lucy couldn’t hear. After a moment, he nodded and gestured for her to follow him. 

She trailed after his tall, slender form down an aisle and deeper into the store. “I think we can accommodate you on the journals,” he said, turning his head and glancing at her. Lucy smiled. He blinked and turned back, clearing his throat. 

Lucy took in the neatly tailored suit, complete with a waistcoat. His shoes had a high polish but were surprisingly quiet as he paced across the hardwood floors. 

“The shop is so lovely, are you the owner?”

“Mmm, yes. Edmund Ashcroft, at your service.” He gave a little bow. With anyone else, this would have been a slightly humorous act, but Edmund seemed very sincere. Lucy’s smile grew bigger. 

“How long have you owned the shop?” Lucy lengthened her stride a bit to keep up with him.

“For quite a long time,” he admitted, and she caught how he took a slightly longer breath at the end of that statement. It wasn’t quite a sigh. In fact, she’d have missed it if she weren’t watching him carefully. There was something magnetic about the man, Lucy thought, almost as if he created his own subtle gravitational pull. 

Margo would love this guy, she thought with an internal chuckle.

He led her through what felt a bit like a labyrinth of towering shelves until they came upon a small table, lit like the others with a lamp that cast buttery light over a series of beautiful journals in hand-tooled leather. 

“Oh, these are… oh wow.” Lucy picked one up carefully. It was embossed with a sprawling, old, barren tree, in a dark, black-red leather that was soft yet substantial in her hands. “This would be perfect for Margo.”

“Excellent,” he watched her with a kind of quiet interest. 

“So tell me about your books.”

“My books?”

“They look old, and important?”

“Ah, yes,” Edmund glanced around thoughtfully. He absently touched his wrist, then lowered his hand. “Well, there are many different kinds. Quite a few are rare.”

Lucy liked the quiet pride that came into his voice as he explained about the different types of books he carried. She listened, fascinated, as he spoke with both familiarity and reverence of fine bindings, antiquarian manuscripts, incunabula, and historical ephemera. Each word sounded rich and mysterious.

“Of course, the modern firsts are just due to demand, really. I come upon the occasional incunable if the old gods are feeling generous. Well, and maps. I may have a bit of an unhealthy relationship with maps.” He touched the base of his throat absently, then glanced up, looking mildly surprised by her delighted laugh.

“You’re funny,” she said, a simple observation.

He inclined his head. “Ah, well. My apologies for prattling on like that.”

“No apologies needed, it’s clearly something deeply important to you.”

He hummed at this but didn’t reply. Edmund instead looked at the journal in her hand, then back at her eyes. Here in the light cast from the lamp, she saw the warmer brown in his dark hair, and his eyes didn’t look quite so black. “Do you feel like that would be an acceptable gift?” he asked, gesturing at the book.

Lucy nodded but cast her gaze over the rest of the journals, and her eyes widened. “Oh! This one is lovely too!” She reached out and plucked up another. Its leather was a muted robin’s egg blue. The cover featured a lovely embossed illustration of a dragonfly, surrounded by elaborate, flowing Art Nouveau-style decorations. “Beautiful,” she whispered, her finger tracing over the image.

“You like dragonflies?”

“Yes, I’ve always loved them.”

“They are often considered a symbol of harmony and good luck, although in some cultures they can represent transformation.”

“Yes,” Lucy nodded and slowly opened the cover, brushing her fingers over the thick, high-quality paper. She noticed how there seemed to be a slight break in the pages. Slowly slipping her finger into the break, she flipped the pages open. “Oh,” Lucy said softly, smiling in delight. In between the pages was a dried, pressed flower. She lifted the pale lavender peony out and looked at it.

“I am terribly sorry, that shouldn’t have been there.” He cast a glare off at seemingly nothing, then sighed and reached out to take the flower from her, but she shook her head and carefully placed it back into the book. “Do you think your friend would prefer that one?”

“No, but I would.” Lucy broke into a full grin and felt pleased when one corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “I’ll take them both.”

Lucy watched Edmund’s long, elegant hands as he carefully took the journals from her, his fingers cool where they briefly brushed her own. He then swiftly, but with a certain tenderness, wrapped the books, each in a lovely vellum parchment paper that had a slight patina of age to it. His hands entranced her. They shifted with an economy of movement, wrapping the journals easily. 

She noticed a sliver of black satin peeking out from under his left cuff, and a signet ring in a dark metal, with a crest on it that had been worn so smooth that she couldn’t tell what it had been on his right ring finger. He carefully slipped the packages into a bag, colored a charcoal gray as dark as the building’s trim. Ash & Ink, in the same elegant, spare serif font as the sign outside, was printed in muted gold.

Lucy watched Edmund as he rang up her purchase. 

“That is a surprisingly low price,” she said in surprise. 

Edmund shrugged and glanced off down the rows of shelves past her, then focused on her face again. “Ah, well. I am only charging for the one. It seemed a pity to separate them.”

Lucy laughed and accepted the offer with a nod. 

He gave her a thin smile, then rubbed the bridge of his nose briefly. It was the most unguarded gesture she’d seen from him. She felt as though he might be a little weary, or as though there was a subtle weight of something undefinable weighing on him.

“How are you?” she asked.

He looked up in the middle of handing her the bag, and froze mid-motion. “Excuse me?”

“How are you?” she repeated.

Edmund tilted his head. “I am… quite well, thank you,” he said carefully.

Lucy leaned in a little, her expression warm and open. “No, really… how are you?”

“I…” Edmund opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked down at the bag for a long moment, then handed it over to her. She took it and stood, still waiting patiently, still smiling. “It’s been very nice meeting you, Ms…”

“Lucy Bennett.” She held out her hand. He looked at it and, after a long moment, clasped her hand in his.

“Truly, Ms. Bennett, it’s been delightful.” Edmund’s voice was suddenly sincere. Lucy felt a shiver run through her as she touched his hand. Everything seemed to shift slightly. She blinked and looked at this man, who was so interesting and, yes, attractive in a sort of old-fashioned way. He felt a bit out of time, and perhaps just a little lonely. 

Lucy took a slow breath and nodded. “Same.” She realized he was avoiding her question, but decided not to push it. “Margo will love the journal, thank you. I’ll certainly enjoy mine.”

“Well, good, good.” Edmund nodded and briefly touched his cufflink. He straightened a bit and stepped back. “Well, have a lovely rest of your evening.”

“You too.” Lucy gave him a cheery wave and turned to leave. The door seemed a bit farther away than she’d expected. It was funny how large the space seemed inside. It still exuded a feeling of welcome and comfort under the curated aesthetic. Such an interesting place, she mused, with an interesting owner. 

Lucy breathed in the old-book scent with pleasure, again noting the other fragrance just under it, and made her way to the exit. The long rows of shelves, pregnant with stories, seemed to swallow up the sound of her tapping heels.

“I, ah,” Edmund stopped speaking when she paused at the threshold and looked back at him. “I… please do visit again,” he finished, then closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them up, his face had settled back into that slightly removed expression he’d had when he’d first greeted her.

“I will,” she said simply and then slipped out of the door, the small bell chiming softly as it swung closed.

“A flower? Really?” Edmund snapped, cocking his head towards the ceiling. “Bloody hell.”